Inquisitorial Review
by occaecation
Summary: After the departure of Umbridge, Albus and Minerva discuss the staff reviews over a bottle of wine. Or several bottles. Silly one-shot


**Disclaimer: Am I allowed to say non-gay Albus is mine?**

**A/N: An incredibly old idea, finally come to life. Not incredibly well-written, my mind was elsewhere P:**

Minerva McGonagall was in pain. Her chest was throbbing sorely from sitting up for so long, her back was beginning to hurt from the many shapes she was contorting herself into to try and stay comfortable, and she couldn't even walk without a walking stick. She was exhausted, despite spending almost all day in bed, from the small effort it had taken to travel from St. Mungo's back to Hogwarts, her home. She felt horribly _old._

Despite all of this, however, she couldn't even begin to imagine a time when she'd been happier. Albus was back, sitting behind his large desk with that ever-present twinkle in his eyes, there was a game of long-unfinished chess between them that both were adamantly ignoring, and she was finally getting the chance to discuss all the recent misdeeds to someone who would actually appreciate them over elf-made wine from a spectacular year.

They both chuckled heartily as she finished the grand tale of the Weasley twins departure.

"Well, Minerva," began Albus, refilling her glass, "as much as I have thoroughly enjoyed catching up with you, it seems we have some serious work to do." He leveled his gaze over his half-moon glasses at her, and she did the same over her square ones, eyebrows raised and smiling crookedly. She knew he couldn't be serious, they were much too intoxicated to take care of anything. After all, they'd just started a second bottle, and it really was a wonderful year. Very potent.

Smiling back at her, Albus reached into his top desk drawer and pulled out a thick pile of pink parchment. Minerva groaned and took a rather large sip of wine. She'd been wrong- they weren't drunk enough. "Do we really have to do anything regarding that foul old toad tonight?" she asked, all happiness gone from her features. For a moment, Albus was heartbroken by the look on her face, the change in her posture, but he shook off the feeling. This would make her feel better, he knew.

"Ah, but are you certain you wouldn't like a look at-" he paused to read the top piece of parchment, as if he didn't already know what it said, "the 'Staff Evaluations in Accordance to the Views of the Hogwarts High Inquisitor'?" Minerva's eyes widened and she looked up, giddy joy slowly creeping back into her features.

"How in the name of Merlin did you get those?" she asked, reaching across the desk to grab the papers away from him, barely registering a the prick of pain in her chest. It had gotten a thousand times more bearable, and she wondered lightly if she'd had enough alcohol to dull the pain that much.

Albus held the paperwork back out of her reach and smiled. She was obviously pain-free, or close to it. The potion he'd slipped into her drink was obviously working. "Let's just say Dolores' imperturbable charms have proved to be no more extraordinary than the rest of her magic." Minerva snorted and sat back, accepting the fact that he wasn't going to hand the parchment over. "Now...who first?" he asked, leafing through the pile and adjusting his spectacles.

"I don't know, but I want to be able to see. Hand them over."

An hour and far too much wine later, they were both on the floor, Minerva with her back to the chair she'd been sitting in and Albus next to her, taking turns reading loudly from the reports and laughing uproariously.

"Nonono, listen to this," Minerva coughed out through laughter, pointing to a line. Albus picked up the bottle of wine beside him and attempted to refill their glasses, only to find it empty. He shrugged and banished it while she began reading. "'Standards have also fallen in the area of personal hygiene. Severus Snape appears to shower less than once a week, Pomona Sprout consistently arrives late for meetings, covered from head-to-toe in earth, and Albus Dumbledore, the supposedly esteemed headmaster, has hair so wild that it can't have been brushed in the last decade'!" Minerva cackled, setting down the letter, and Albus looked outraged.

"I brush my hair every day!" he corrected, brow furrowed as he glared at the offending parchment. Minerva continued to laugh. Her stomach was beginning to hurt much more than her chest. "Let me see that." She handed him the paper in question, and he read over it, then smiled triumphantly. "You missed a bit. 'In addition, there has been much talk by the students about Minerva McGonagall coughing up hairballs during class.'" He began to chuckle, and it was her turn to glare.

"That was a prank by Fred and George Weasley, I'll have you know!" she snatched the parchment back, balled it up, and threw it into the fire. Due to intoxication, however, her aim was off by several feet.

"I have to say, this one's still my favorite," Albus commented, fishing Minerva's personal review out of the pile. She rolled her eyse. "I particularly like this bit at the end, the one about how we've secretly been involved since your seventh year." Minerva rolled her eyes somewhat unsucessfully.

"I wish," she said hollowly, tugging the parchment away from him. He didn't let go, and what she'd just said slowly began to register in her cloudy mind. _Merlin be damned I'm never drinking again,_ she thought, daring a glance up to his face. He was looking at her with an expression she'd never seen on him before.

Albus felt as if his heart had stopped as he stared at the witch next to him. She was much more dishevelled than usual, and exactly what she had said seemed to be dawning on her. She looked up at him, then away, and opened her mouth to say something, but he put a hand on her shoulder before she could, and once again her eyes met his.

"Do you mean that?" he asked carefully, certain he'd heard wrong or she'd made a mistake.

She couldn't muster her wits about her enough to make an excuse or otherwise talk her way out of the situation. "Yes."

Before he could come to his senses enough to do something he'd regret later, Albus leaned in and kissed her. After a surprised second in which normally her thoughts would be flying, but instead her brain just went fuzzy, Minerva kissed him back, hard, leaning into him as he moved closer. When the need to breathe finally interfered they separated, foreheads pressed lightly together.

"Maybe this isn't a good idea," Minerva started, pulling back slightly, but she couldn't for the life of her remember why she'd thought that.

"And if we were sober?" asked Albus, so close that she could feel his breath, which was meddling heavily with her already heavily impeded thinking.

"It would be even more unbelievable," she admitted, smiling again. Albus vowed to get her drunk more often. She'd smiled more tonight than he'd seen her do in the past five years. He fished his wand out of his pocket and pointing it at himself. A stream of ice-cold water hit him straight in the face.

"You know as well as I do that that doesn't actually work," she laughed, placing her hands on either side of his now wet face and again pressing her lips to his, though pulling away after a second, her hands dropping around his neck. He chuckled.

"It was worth a try." His lips recaptured hers, taking a significantly longer to part. "In any case, I promise you that this is something I've wanted to do for a long, long time." He stood, and helped her do the same, both of them slightly unsteady on their feet. Albus cupped her face in his hands, then trailed back, his fingers in her black hair, and began to pull out pins, letting them drop to the floor. Her bun uncurled, and dark hair, slightly wavy from the way it had been wrapped, fell to just below her shoulders. "Come to think of it," Albus continued as she closed her eyes and smiled while he ran his hands through her hair, leaning her head back into his touch, "there are a few other things I've wanted to try..."

"Really, Headmaster," she replied, pressing her body more firmly against his, "I haven't a clue what you're on about. Care to demonstrate?"

"That, Professor, I believe I can certainly do," he replied, kissing her deeply and beginning what was to be a long, long night.

On the floor, two empty glasses and a large stack of pink parchment sat, forgotten.

**A/N: You know, writing this I got a very vivid image of an extremely drunk Albus and Minerva playing knock-knock-ditch on Umbridge's Pepto-Bismal Pink front door whilst hiding out in her shrubbery, occasionally leaving odd and sometimes dangerous things on the stoop.**

**Good thing they found other ways to entertain themselves first ;) however, if anyone would like to write that fic... Shoot the moon; hit me up. I'd love to see it.**

**And don't you know they'll have the mother of all hangovers tomorrow morning, poor things.**


End file.
